patchwork for your soul
by Emporia Nexus
Summary: This is my family: somewhat mismatched, a little odd, and a lot broken. They are good folks, though. Good folks. — Diva, Saya, almost full cast; all-human!AU.


**title:** patchwork for your soul  
**summary:** This is my family: somewhat mismatched, a little odd, and a lot broken. They are good folks, though. Good folks.  
**notes:** don't look at me, I am having an emotion

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"Urgh. Being pregnant with twins is _so_ not fun."

Diva walks – waddles, really – into Omoro's lounge with a hand on her protruding stomach and the other on the small of her back, long white dress pooling around her calves. Her hair is a mess from the wind outside, dark curls cascading down her back and shoulders in uneven waves. Nathan and Solomon trail behind her, the latter carrying her bag and shawl and the former managing the feat of walking without rupturing anything despite the impossibly tight, pale, pink jeans he's wearing.

"Nathan, if you'd be a darling –" she says, slightly out of breath.

Despite her best efforts to hide them, the thin lines underneath her eyes are there in plain sight. Sleep has been scarce over the past nine months, and she had never been one to sleep a full night to begin with. A simple look, and anyone could tell she is tired. Yet there is a cheery, self-satisfied smile nestled in the corners of her mouth, bright like a miniature sun; she glows in the way pregnant women do, the aura of motherhood wrapped around her like a blanket.

"But of course, ma petite," Nathan replies, carefully helping her ease into the nearest chair.

Behind the counter, Saya laughs. They are entirely too ridiculous.

"You look just like a mother duck, with all the waggling and those two following you everywhere you go."

"It's not my fault my center of gravity is all screwed up," Diva says, pouting. "You try being close to term and seventeen kilos fatter than usually, and then we can talk. Christ, my lower back is _killing_ me_, _ow."

"It will be all worth it when you'll hold your daughters," Saya reminds her, all a smile from head to toe.

She sets a plateau supporting a tall pitcher of apple juice and four glasses as well as a plate overflowing with cakes down on the table, eliciting a pleased sigh from her sister.

"I don't say this nearly as much as I should," Diva says, dark blue eyes ridiculously wide and grateful, "but I love you, I really do. So so _so_ much. Especially when you're feeding me. Paris doesn't hold a candle to George's cooking, cross my heart."

Saya laughs again, pressing a kiss to her sister's temple. She takes a seat across from Diva, jutting her chin toward the remaining empty chairs in invitation for the two men.

"Speaking of your father," Nathan chimes in, seating himself next to her, "where is he?"

"Out, shopping for groceries. Riku's with him."

"Riku? I thought he left the country."

"He did. And then he came back."

"Got homesick, huh." Solomon says, and it is not a question. He knows the feeling; only, for him, home is not a land.

He watches the sisters out of the corner of his eye, something heavy blooming in his chest.

"Seems so," Saya says. She tucks her knees to her chest, eyes a little melancholic. "He jokes and says he came back because we suck at taking care of ourselves, but really, I think the prospect of a life without us scared him. He's always been on the introverted side, always leaned towards home and family."

Nathan gives a haughty shake of his head. "Oh, mon dieu. All this time, and I still can't believe little Riku was the one who..."

"It was one night," Diva says, cutting him off, more than just a little exasperated. "One night, Nathan, _one_."

"Précisément! Who would've thought little Riku was such a virile, virile man? Makes me a little weak in the knees, honestly."

Diva rolls her eyes. "You're terrible, I hope you know that."

"He does, and it makes him giddy," Solomon says, laughing as he helps himself to one of the cakes. "Give it up, love. He will never let you live this down."

"Our lady's questionable taste in men aside," Nathan says, a nasty little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, "how's _your_ man doing, Saya dear?"

Saya blushes red all the way up to the tips of her ears. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You and Haji both should really consider quitting this modest lifestyle. All of your talents are going to absolute waste," he says, suddenly deflated. He reaches for one of the cakes on Diva's plate, only to have his hand slapped away. "And I mean _artistic_ talents. We've all watched you take down Olympic records, and, well, sure, it was fascinating – but by the gods, girl, your _voice_. You're committing a crime by letting it go to waste."

"Do a duet with me, once," Diva suggests. "Just to see how you'd like it."

Saya hesitates. "I've never been trained formally in music, though..."

"I can teach you, so that's not an excuse," Diva says.

"I wasn't looking for one," Saya huffs, an insulted pout halfheartedly making its' way onto her lips. Then: "Alright, I'll do it. I'll hold a duet with you, sometime."

Diva's victorious smile almost makes her question if perhaps she had accepted a little _too_ quickly; she knows her sister, and knows that smile. It is the smile men see before they die.

(Okay, no, it's not. But still. That smile is dangerous, if nothing else; the telltale of mischief that lays awaiting. Not a good thing – not a good thing _at all_.)

"Excellent," she says, clapping her hands. "We'll rope Haji in on it as soon as he's back from – where did you say he is, again? Italy?"

The front door swings open, and whatever Saya might have been on the verge of saying dies in her throat.

George Miyagusuku walks in, hands heavy with the plastic bags he's holding. Almost sixty, and he looks like he hasn't aged a day in a long while. "Saya, we're – oh, hello," he starts, only to halt mid-sentence at the sight of his guests. His face breaks into a smile. "Welcome home," he says, and goes to press a kiss to Diva's cheek.

"Your beard itches, old man," she laughs, nevertheless returning the gesture.

"Yes, well," he says, sheepish.

He rounds his way behind the counter and sets about unpacking the groceries. Voices waft in from outside, and there is the sound of a car's truck slamming shut followed by the soft scrapping of shoes on concrete. Kai is the first to enter the restaurant, and he stops so suddenly in his tracks that Mao slams into him from behind.

"You're here early," he drawls, blinking owlishly. "Wasn't your plane scheduled three days from now?"

He has never been the best person when it comes to social situations.

"Maybe," Diva says, arching a finely sculpted eyebrow. "Does it make a difference?"

"None at all," he replies. He hands his father the remaining groceries before sitting down on one of the high stools and popping open a can of beer.

Mao rolls her eyes. "Ignore him, he's been in a mood lately," she says, not bothering to hide the hint of annoyance in her tone. "Though it's still not an excuse to be shitty," she adds for her boyfriend's benefit, narrowing her eyes to accentuate the reprimand.

"He's _always_ shitty, so it's okay," Diva says, shrugging.

Nobody can disagree with her on that.

Kai rolls his eyes, begrudging. "'m sorry, if it helps."

It's quiet for a while, after that. Kaori drags a chair over so that she is seated between the sisters, and they chat in whispers about things like clothes and baby essentials. ("I had their room painted midnight blue," Diva says, laughing around a bite of cake. "Nathan almost had a heart attack when he saw it, said it's too dark a color for babies." – "That's because it _is_, love.")

George gets started on cooking the dinner, Riku at his side, helping.

Diva is definitely not checking him out subtly, out of the corner of her eye,_ thank you very much_.

(Except, she is; "Gods, when did you get this tall? This broad? You weren't a man last time I saw you. Or, well, you were, but you didn't look the part.")

The radio is turned on, a woman's soft voice singing something slow in Mandarin. Diva closes her eyes, and breathes in through the nose, letting the melody wash over her, seep into her bones. She can't understand the lyrics – not fully, anyway –, but it sounds like such a _sad_ song.

It's soothing.

She relaxes into her seat, letting herself get lost in thought. Then there's a sudden throbbing in her lower abdomen, a long wave of pain. And then another. And another. There's a wetness between her legs, trickling down her thighs, and after the initial shock, everything clicks into place.

"Guys," she says, swallowing the dry lump in her throat, "my water just broke."

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_fin._


End file.
